About the work

That beetle, a tiny gem, caught in the debris of a celebration that’s already passed. Perhaps it was drawn to the fading sweetness of the marigolds, or maybe it simply wandered into this patch of street, searching for something to eat. It has no interest in the human charade, this peculiar stillness. It moves with a different kind of purpose, its iridescent shell reflecting the city’s light in a way the human actors cannot. It is just a beetle, but it seems to know more than the human figures about how to exist in the world without pretending. What does it find in the dust that the humans are missing?